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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 



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Little Meg and L" 



AND OTHER POEMS, 



BY . 



CON. T. MURPHY. 



Compiled by ED. H. GiLLMAN. 



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p.rvofco/vq^ 






DETBOIT FBBE FBBSS PRINTING COHFANT. 

1 889. 



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TO 

MY SISTER AND BROTHER PROFESSIONALS, 

"WITH CHARITY FOR ALL, MALICE TOWARD NONE," 

I §tbxmk ffeis little Volume. 

If, while reading o'er these simple lines you shed a tear, 
Or, with derisive smile, you cast the book aside, 

I will not say, "How sharper than a serpent's tooth," 
like " Lear." 
No matter, smile or tear, I shall be satisfied. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Sketch of the Author, vii 

A Broken Heart, 33' 

A Child's Request, yf 

A Letter of Death 27 

Beautiful Alice Adair, 43 

Bo-Peep, 7 

Bright Days of Happiness, 47 

By and By, 45 

Colleen Kate, 48 

"Crushed," 9 

Davy's Promise, 64 

Drifting Apart, 53 

Good Night, God Bless You, 39 

I Pray for Thee and Thine, ' • 31 

Johnstown, 68 

Kathleen, 40 

Kiss the Little Ones for Me, 13 

Little Meg and I, i 

My Partner, 15 

Only a Beggar, - . 41 

The Girls Say I'm Full of the Blarney, .... 58 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Ivy Leaf, 62 

The Land Where the Shamrock Grows, .... 56 

The Little Wanderer, 60 

The Traitor, 6 

Thought — An Acrostic, , 38 

To the Memory of Brother Billy Gray, 51 

To the Memory of Charles Backus, 50 

To the Memory of James A. Lord, 52 

"Unknown," 63 

When Stars are Shining, Ella Dear, 44 

Would-Be Actresses, 11 



SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 




ON T. MURPHY, author, actor, poet, was born 
in St. Louis, Mo., in 1841, of "Irish parents." 
He possessed a voice and dramatic talent, 
both of which showed themselves at an early 
age. But his father, with that feeling against 
"play actors" so frequently seen in old country people, 
insisted on the boy learning a trade. This he accordingly 
did, that of marble cutting, lettering and carving. Nature 
would assert itself, however, and the winter of '58-9 found 
young Murphy a member of the stock company in Ben 
De Bar's theater in St. Louis. From ' ' My Lord the Car- 
riage Waits," he became leading juvenile man, and played 
in the last seasons respectively of the stock companies in 
Sinn's in Brooklyn, McCauley's in Cincinnati, and Bidwell's 
in New Orleans. He was a member of Lester Wallack's 
company in New York, in 1880, and was Wallack's stage 
manager on the road. 

" Con " sat in the middle chair for nearly all the old 
minstrels, including Carncross and Dixey, Billy Manning, 
Moran and Dixey, Bill Newcomb, and Dan Bryant. He 



Viii , SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR, 

sang the first song of Emerson's minstrels in San Fran- 
cisco, in 1870, having been one of the original parties 
engaged by Tom McGuire. 

It was while in San Francisco that he first began to em- 
body his poetical thoughts in verse. His productions have 
a charm peculiarly their own — a tender sentiment here, 
and a note of bold defiance there — pathos and heroism 
commingled — that never fail to strike responsive chords. 
He wrote "The Ivy Leaf" in 1884, and "The Fairy's 
Well" in 1888, both of which have been received with 
marked favor as presented by W. H. Power's company. 

Mr. Murphy is happily married and is domestic in his 
habits, though upon social occasions his sunny disposition, 
pleasant humor and varied accomplishments make his com- 
pany sought after by all and ever welcome. 

ALEX. I. MCLEOD. 



■^^ 



LITTLE MEG AND L 




OU ask me, mates, to spin a yarn before we 
go below; 
Well, as the night is calm and fair, and no 

chance for a blow, 

I'll give you one, a story true as ever yet 

was told; 

For, mates, I would n't lie about the dead ; no, not for gold. 

The story 's of a maid and lad, who loved in days gone by ; 

The maiden was Meg Anderson, the lad, messmates, was I. 



A neater, trimmer craft than Meg was very hard to find ; 
Why, she could climb a hill and make five knots "agin 

the wind; 
And as for larnin, hulks and spars ! I 've often heard it said 
That she could give the scholars points and then come 

out ahead; 
The old school-master used to say, and, mates, it made 

me cry; 
That the smartest there was little Meg, the greatest dunce 

was I. 



LITTLE MEG AND I. 



But what cared I for larnin then, while she was by my 

side, 
For tho' a lad, I loved her, mates, and for her would have 

died ; 
And she loved me, the little lass, and often have I 

smiled 
When she said, "I'll be your little wife" — 'twas the 

prattle of a child; 
For there lay a gulf between us, mates, with the waters 

running high. 
On one side stood Meg Anderson, on the other side 

stood I. 



Meg's fortune was twelve ships at sea, and houses on 
the land, 

While mine— why, mates, you might have held my for- 
tune in your hand; 

Her father owned a vast domain, for miles along the 
shore \ 

My father owned a fishing smack, a hut, and nothing 
more. 

I knew that Meg I ne'er could win, no matter how I'd 
try, 

For on a couch of down lay she, on a bed of straw 
lay I. 



LITTLE MEG AND L 



I never thought of leaving Meg, or Meg of leaving me, 

For we were young, and never dreamed that I should go 
to sea, 

'Till one bright morning father said, " There's a whale ship 
in the bay, 

I want you. Bill, to make a cruise; you go aboard to- 
day." 

Well, mates, in two weeks from that time I bade them 
all good-bye. 

While on the dock stood little Meg, and on the deck 
stood I. 



I saw her oft before we sailed whene'er I came on 
shore, 

And she would say, "Bill, when you're gone I'll love you 
more and more. 

And I promise to be true to you through all the cohiing 
years ;" 

But while she spoke her bright blue eyes would fill with 
pearly tears; 

Then as I whispered words of hope and kissed her eye- 
lids dry. 

Her last words were, "God speed you, Bill!" so parted 
Meg and I. 



LITTLE MEG AND I. 



Well, mates, we cruised for four long years, 'till at last 

one summer's day 
Our good ship, the Minerva, cast anchor in the bay; 
Oh! how my heart beat high with hope as I saw her 

home once more, 
And on the pier stood hundreds to welcome us 

ashore ; 
But heart sank down within me as I gazed with anxious 

eye — 
No little Meg stood on the dock as on the deck 

stood I. 



Why, mates, it nearly broke my heart when I went ashore 

that day, 
For they told me little Meg had wed while I was far 

away ; i 

They told me, too, they forced her to 't, and wrecked her 

fair young life; 
Just think, messmates, a child in years to be an old man's 

wife; 
But her father said it must be so, and what could she 

reply, 
For she was only just sixteen, just twenty-one was I. 



LITTLE MEG AND I. 



Well, mates, a few short years from then — perhaps it 

might be four — 
One blustering night Jack Glynn and I were rowing to 

the shore, 
When right ahead we saw a sight that made us hold our 

breath. 
There floating in the pale moonlight was a woman cold 

in death; 
I raised her up — Ah! God, messmates, that I had passed 

her by, 
For in the bay lay little Meg, and over her stood I. 



Next day I laid poor Meg away ; and nightly on the wave 
My spirit wanders forth to keep a watch beside her grave ; 
Her father knows not where she lies, nor he who her be- 
trayed, 
There's no one, mates, but Bill, who knows where^ little 

Meg is laid; 
In a quiet grove of willows, her father's house Hard by. 
There sleeps in peace f>iy little Meg, and here, messmates, 
am I. 



®>5 



THE TRAITOR, 



THE TRAITOR. 



/^^jii^ALSE to his country, his name, and God, 
^iJ " 4" What shall be done with him ? Drive him from 
'^^JU Ireland's sacred sod, 

Whereon the cottage stands where he was born, 
Whose thatched roof the sun first kisses in the 
morn ; 
Drive him from the mother's arms who gave him birth 
And held him on her knee upon that hearth, 
Where oft his father sat at close of day, 
And tried to teach his coward heart to pray, 
To love his God, his name, his native land, 
And ne'er prove false, or stain with blood his hand; 
Drive him from those dear old hills, where he has often been. 
To find the "four leaved shamrock," God's blessed sprig 

of green ; 
Drive him from that little isle that stands out in the sea, 
Let not his breath pollute the air, that blows there fresh 

and free. 
Let him not live where music sweet or chiming of church bell 
Shall greet his ear, his home should be, the lowest depths 
of Hell ! 



BO-PEEP, 



BO-PEEP. 




EASE, mamma, won't you pay peep with 
me?" 
Said a babe scarce four years old. 
She was sitting the while on her mother's 
knee. 

And the darling was being told 
To pray for papa ere to bed she 'd go 
And her bright eyes closed in sleep. 
"Dod bess papa," came soft and low; 
" And mamma, pease pay Bo-Peep." 



"Our Father; now raise up your little hands.*" 
"Our Fader," the darling said. 

" * God bless while in distant lands ' ; 
Say this and we'll go to bed." 

"I don't want to do yet, mamma dear.' 
"Then pray that 'angels keep 
Your papa in their watchful care.' " 
"If I do, will you pay Bo-Peep?" 



BO-PEEP. 

" Dod bess papa, and bring him soon 

To Puss, and me, and you, 
Mamma, does Dod live in the moon, 

And is papa up there, too?" 
"Ah! baby, mine, God's everywhere. 

On the land and in the deep." 
"Den ask him pease to dust come here 

And let us pay Bo-Peep." 



So like the child, Bo-Peep we play 

From the cradle to the grave. 
Forgetting that on Judgment Day 

He'll ask you for what He gave ; 
Where is the seed you should have sown. 

The harvest you should reap? 
The seed have with the four winds blown; 

Like the baby, we played Bo-Peep. 



iSV^ 



CRUSHED. 



"CRUSHED." 




LAY what I'm cast for ! eight dollars a week! 
My dear sir, you must surely be mad. 
You agents must have an infernal cheek; 

Actors! fakirs, you mean, can be had. 
You like my assurance ; what makes my face 
red? 
At your offer I naturally blushed; 
What, I play a servant, was that what you said ? 
Gods of my fathers! I'm crushed. 



Where have I played, and what, did you say? 

Claude, Hamlet, Othello, and Lear; 
Comedy, too, I oftentimes play. 

And I flatter myself I'm not queer. 
Get on to his tile, it's a four year old six, 

And his shiny coat, only half brushed; 
I should be low, indeed, if with your kind I'd mix, 

Shakespeare, look down, I am crushed. 



10 CRUSHED. 

Ah, indeed ! Humpty Dumpty, with railroad fares paid, 

Play the Policeman, and programme the show; 
My dear sir, if you knew all the hits that I've made, 

You'd star me to-morrow, I know. 
As Brutus, I've been so o'ercome, it's a fact. 

That the blood to my throbbing brain rushed ; 
Now a Pantomime Policeman you want me to act. 

In despite of my genius, I'm crushed. 



Ah ! well, it's no use of my talking to you, 

I shall have to come down to stock star ; 
That was rather unkind of that lady in blue : 

Go and play with the stock, in the bar. 
She was right; take a walk, or for lunch I'll be late, 

My face plainly shows I get lushed. 
You don't mean to say you won't give me a date. 

No ! shade of Boucicault's pate, I am crushed ! 

{Exit?) 



^^^^^^^ 



WOULD-BE A CTRESSES. 1 1 



WOULD-BE ACTRESSES. 




■^"^ HEN Roscious was an actor in Rome, 
Then came each actor on a jack; 
The actresses, when journeying from 
home, 
Did walk, each with her wardrobe on 
her back. 
Centuries hath made a wondrous change in art; 

In these enlightened times to be a star 
A pretty face is all you need, no brains, no heart; 

A dude with money, and a palace car, 
A plentiful supply of rarest flowers, 

Applause ad lib, to each clacquer a pass, 
A critic royally regaled for hours 

On iced champagne, and paid for by an ass; 
Not like the one on which the Roman actor came. 

He had four legs like creatures of his kind. 
This one has but two, a thing of fame, 

With pockets deep, and very shallow mind. 
By such as he are actresses [save the mark] now 
made. 



12 WOULD-BE ACTRESSES. 

He has her photographed in various styles; 

A naughty scandal on her name is laid. 
And then she's greeted with applause and smiles. 

Oh! that such beings now should be the rage, 
These painted dolls of very doubtful fame; 

When we've such handsome women on the stage 
Of talents rare, and of unblemished name. 

Who love their art, as artists only love, 
For love of art, and not for worldly gain; 

Who put their faith and trust in Him above, 
And live an honored life without a stain ! 




KISS THE LITTLE ONES FOR ME. 1 3 



KISS THE LITTLE ONES FOR ME. 




^ HEN the beauteous mom is breaking, 
And the east is red with light, 
When the rose and lily's waking, 

And the night owl takes his flight; 
When from slumber soft and sweet 
Morpheus sets his victims free, 
When the sun and dewdrops meet, 
Kiss the little ones for me. 



When the noonday sun is shining, 

And the birds sing sweet on high, ■* 
Or when clouds with silver lining 

Soar between the earth and sky; 
When the day king sits in glory, 

And the breeze fans leaf and tree, 
Then with fond embrace and story 

Kiss the little ones for me. 



14 KISS THE LITTLE ONES FOR ME. 

When the evening shades are falling, 

And the night comes on apace. 
When the dove his mate is calling, 

And the stars fill Heaven's space; 
Then with mother's arms caressing, 

Place them close beside your knee, 
And with holy prayer and blessing 

Kiss the little ones for me. 




MV PARTNER. 1 5 



MY PARTNER 




ED Singleton ? why he's been dead some seven 

years or more ; 
You didn't know it? Why, of course, you 

left here long before 
Poor Ned was killed, and you ain't been 
round here since; 
As good as gold, you bet your life, an' handsome as a prince. 
His checks were handed in for him; no, not in any row, 
As clear a case of murder as — sit down, I'll tell ye how. 
You remember in the good old times, before you went away. 
How we would work, Ned and I, digging night and day, 
In rain or snow, in heat or cold — you know how hard we 

tried 
To find the precious metal — our claims lay side by side. 
At last Ned struck the yellow gold, why it nearly set him 

wild. 
He danced, and sang, and cut up shines, just like a little 

child. 
That very night the fit seized me, but I wasn't much to 

blame, 
For the very vein that Ned had struck was running through 
my claim. 



1 6 MY PARTNER. 



We talked of nothing else for days but about our lucky 

strike, 
And so we formed a partnership, to share and share alike. 
We built a cabin on the claim, 'twas of timber hard and dry, 
And there we lived together, my partner Ned, and I. 
We seldom had an angry word, for we loved each other 

well, 
Till there came between us, one sad day, a cloud as black 

as hell. 
Long years ago — why you were here, the day the Bran- 
don's came. 
No work was done, it seemed as though each man had 

struck his claim ; 
The news had spread : a lady was a comin' in the stage. 
An' so the boys put on their best — biled shirts was all 

the rage. 
When the six-in-hand drove up the hill, the boys got 

awful riled, 
The lady they had looked for was a little female child. 
*Twas I who took her from the coach — why, you were 

standing by ; 
Ah ! little then I thought that she would part poor Ned 

and I. 
As the years flew by the child grew up, as pretty as 

could be, 
While Ned and I worked side by side, both thought fancy 

free ; 



MV PARTNER. 1 7 



In the evening we'd go down the gulch, and at her 

father's door 
She, Ned, and I would stories tell till half the night was o'er. 
I thought there was no preference, but she could plainly see 
That I was but a stunted pine, a giant oak was he. 
Why, Ned could talk just like a book, from morning until 

night. 
And as I listened, how I wished that I could read and write. 
How bright the moon on Shasta shone, those nights as 

we went home. 
For in every star my Mary's face I saw in Heaven's dome ; 
But if my partner breathed her name my flesh began to 

creep, 
'Twas jealousy, I know it was, I could scarcely work or sleep; 
I loved her so, and the knowledge made me mean, 
I wouldn't spend a cent ; no, sar, my wife must be a queen. 
My wife! how those two words my soul would fill with joy; 
My wife! ah, man, the thought was bliss without alloy. 
She always had a smile for me, so Ned I didn't mind, 
I couldn't see her love for him, tny love made me blind. 
Ned and I were such close chums, that I seldohi had a 

chance 
To be alone with Mary ; one night they gave a dance 
At her father's tavern down the gulch, 'twas then the 

Golden Gate; 
I was the first one there that night, for I wasn't going 
to wait 



l8 MV PARTNER. 



Another hour, but tell her then and thar 

How much I loved her, and before my God to swar 

As long as health and strength were left, and He my life 

would spare, 
To be to her the best of men, if she would only share 
My home with me, and with her angel face 
Make earth a heaven, her heart my dwelling place. 
We met ; I spoke as best I could, till I no more could say, 
With downcast eyes she listened, then fainted dead away. 
I ran to bring some water from the quiet little stream 
That flows beside her father's house, I thought it was a 

dream. 
I hurried back, when like a flash I suddenly awoke, 
She lay upon my partner's breast, I thought that I should 

choke. 
I heard her pleadings to him — she whom I thought was free 
Was bound with fetters to this man, my God! and dead 

to me. 
It drove me mad, and quick as thought I stood between 

them both, 
With hand on knife, I made my partner register this oath : 
"As sure as God's in Heaven, repeat me on your life, 
Swear before three days go by that she shall be your wife." 
He took the oath to make her his, but the oath was never 

kept. 
My partner, ere three days passed by, beneath the pine 

trees slept 



MV PARTNER. 1 9 



That quiet sleep that never wakes, at least not here, they say. 
But in that bourne where he and I shall meet on judg- 
ment day. 
That very night, the night he swore to me that he'd atone 
For both their faults, I wandered off, ah ! God, to be alone ; 
Away from her, away from him, away from face of man. 
How much I suffered that long night, friend picture, if 

you can. 
As morning dawned on Shasta, I turned with broken heart. 
Towards our cabin, Ned's and mine, determined we must 

part. 
Another night beneath that roof I swore I' d never spend, 
I'd made my mind up, come what may, our partnership 

to end. 
I saw my partner sitting in his old accustomed chair, 
I didn't want no words, no, sar ; I told him fair and square 
That we must part, that I must leave. "What! going 

away, Joe ; where ?" 
"So far I hope I may forget; too far to come back here." 
Our gold we always hid away, in a hole made in the hearth, 
'Twas dust and nuggets, just as we had dug it'^from the 

earth. 
I looked around to find the scales, that I might weigh the 

gold. 
No need of scales, my partner said, divide it as of old. 
I did divide it, with my knife; to me 'twas so much dirt. 
Not all Sierras' gold that day could heal where I was hurt. 



20 MY PARTNER, 



Now that all was o'er between us, I took my hat to go, . 
In silence Ned reached out his hand, but I wouldn't take 

it, no ; 
When you have kept your word with her, redeemed your 

solemn vow, 
If after that we ever meet, I'll take your hand — not now. 
I couldn't take it then, no, sar, for I had been deceived 
By him of all men else on earth; why, I wouldn't have: 

believed 
That Ned was false ;• no, not from an angel's mouth ; 
But what I'd seen, and what I'd heard, convinced me 

beyond doubt. 
As I opened wide the cabin door, its hinges seemed to say,. 
" Shake hands with Ned, don't be a fool ; please, Joe, don't 

go away." 
But to go I w^as determined, no matter, lose or win; 
Away from all that once I loved, and another life begin. 
One last look through the window, where almost every night 
The moon looked in from Shasta, to flood our home with 

light, 
I saw my partner sitting there, and heard the strong man 

ccy, 

I wanted to forgive him then, shake hands and say good- 
bye; 

But a voice seemed whispering in my ear, be to your 
purpose strong, 

Remember Mary Brandon, and the man who did her wrong. 



MV PARTNER. 21 



That was enough ; I saw him there, his head upon his hands, 
I wandered off, I don't know where, as yet I'd formed no 

plans ; 
As to what I'd do, or where I'd go, I never gave a thought. 
^Twas folly; ah! I see it now; but, oh! how dearly bought. 
Had I not acted like a boy, and to passion given way, 
My partner, Ned Singleton, might have been alive to-day. 
How vividly the past came back, as through the gulch I 

strayed. 
There stood the old elm tree, beneath whose welcome shade. 
When the days w^ere hot, we'd sit for hours, and talk of 

the time so near. 
The time when we could rest, and say of the future we've 

no fear. 
And there the little murmuring stream, where, when our 

work was done. 
We'd kneel and bathe our fevered brows, 'neath the rays 

of the setting sun; 
And just below the sweet wild flowers, the fern and .creep- 
ing vine. 
The lofty oak, the spreading beech, the cyprus and the pine. 
As I passed along I looked around, and everywhere saw Ned, 
I heard these words: "Joe, when the pick's grown rusty, 

old and red. 
And laid away in the empty mine, we can come down 

here and rest 
With those we love; for, partner, this spot's by nature blest." 



22 MV PARTNER. 



As I gazed on this familiar scene, my eyes filled up with 

tears, 
The pearly drops fell on my cheeks, the first for many 

years : 
But with them came my better self, I was a man once 

more, 
I must go back, shake hands with Ned, be partners as 

of yore. 
I did go back; yes, there he sat, as when I saw him last, 
I offered him my hand and said, forgive me for the past. 
I asked him to look over all the unkind things I'd said, 
But my partner couldn't answer, my God ! for he was dead. 
Yes, there he sat, stark cold in death, while the miners in 

a crowd 
Came rushing through the cabin door, with these words 

clear and loud: 
"Hang him! hang him to a tree!" till I thought they'd 

never cease. 
What, hang his murderer.^ "No," I said, "tear him 

piece by piece." _^ 
Suspicion pointed strong to me, my friends I know were 

pained, 
But there was proof, my knife was found with poor Ned's 

life blood stained ; 
I left it on the table when I cut the gold in two. 
Ah, a foolish man does many things which afterwards 

he'll rue. 



MV PARTNER. 2$ 



They took me down the gulch that night, to a place they 

called a jail, 
'Twould never hold a guilty man, 'twas a building old and 

frail ; 
But being innocent of crime, I wouldn't run away, 
I wanted them to try me square, so I was bound to stay. 
In every heart in Dead Man's Gulch was sympathy for me. 
Some thought 'twas Brandon's servant, the Chinaman 

Wing Lee. 
But he was free from stain of blood, as I thank God 

that day 
When Ned was killed, the Chinaman in a drunken stupor 

lay. 
The boys had put him down the shaft, they used to call 

it fun. 
He'd often say, " Joe, me no good ; me cuttee stick an* 

run. 
And so he did, but not alone; soon after Ned was killed, 
Mary Brandon left her home, and hearts with sorrow filled. 
Poor erring child, 'twas better so; aye, better she were 

dead. 
Than have her father ever know what she had been to Ned. 
We never heard no more of her till six months had gone by, 
The very day I thought I'd hear, "you're guilty, and must 

die." 
They took me up to Brandon's, while the jury in a shed 
Were weighing in the scales of fate my life for killing Ned. 



24 MV PARTNER. 



As ikey retired, the sheriff said, "for an hour, Joe, you 

are free, 
A friendly clasp of your honest hand is bond enough for 

me." 
A friendly clasp! God bless you, sir, 'tis enough 'tween 

you and I, 
If the jury find me guilty, yotill find me here to die. 
As I entered Brandon's parlor, I thought my blood would 

freeze, 
For there was Mary Brandon, begging mercy, on her knees ; 
Her face as pale as marble, her bright eyes filled with tears, 
For a moment, man, it seemed there was a lapse of years 

and years 
Since that sad day, six months ago, when an outcast, 

without name, 
She wandered forth, to hide from all her misery and shame. 
"Where have you been.?" her father asked; "the truth, 

girl, on your life. 
You will not answer .?" " No," said I, " Mary is my wife." 
Yoitr wife, came in a chorus, why it nearly shook the roof, 
Josiah Scraggs said, " Brandon, if they're married, get the 

proof." 
The proof— \hQ word came sudden, as if I had been shot, 
"What better proof," said Major Britt, "than again to tie 

the knot.? 
I'm a magistrate, and have the power, so if you'll step inside, 
Mary, for a second time, can be a blushing bride." 



MY PARTNER. 2$ 



When left alone, poor Mary, with a pained look in her face. 
Cried, " Joe, remember what I am ; would you your name 

disgrace ?" 
*' Disgrace my name," I laughed aloud, " 'tis a poor one, 

at the best. 
But it may save you many a pang when I am laid to rest. 
Besides you're poor Ned's widow; and when we meet above, 
I'll tell him square I gave my name where he once gave 

his love. 
If the worst should come, jyon'// lay me beneath the old 

pine tree. 
Beside my partner, and when you die, there'll be room 

enough for three." 
Well, we were married ; yes, siree, and it took from my 

heart a load. 
For Mary was safe. Just then I heard loud voices down 

the road. 
My first thought was a verdict, but when they came quite 

near, 
I heard the words, "new evidence," my God, should I 

get clear? 
Josiah Scraggs said, "let me go and hear why the miners 

shout ;" 
I seized him by the throat and said, " just hear this whole 

thing out." 
The Chinaman, while hidmg in the shaft, on a pile of dirt 
Had found some washee, washee, 'twas only a single shirt. 



26 MV PARTNER. 



The cuff was torn from one sleeve, the cuff band torn 

to rags, 
While on the other cuff was wrote the name Josiah Scraggs. 
That was enough ; why, the murderous wretch, had he a 

grain of sense, 
Might have escaped, but his only plea was, "I did it in 

self-defense." 
A howl that awakened the canyon, for Scraggs it meant 

little hope. 
And so it proved ; it only meant some boys, a limb, a rope. 
You bet 'twas a close call for me! Yes, I'm keepin' the 

Golden Gate, 
And happy as a prince. Yes, sar, happy ; well, you just wait. 
Here Ned, an' Grace, an' Mary, here's a friend ain't been 

here for years ; 
This is my wife, God bless her, an' ain't them two yonder 

dears ? 
Yes, I've called him after my partner, and the baby for 

aunty is named, i 

Now, wouldn't they make two fine picters if they were 

painted an' framed .-^ 
And Mary, she's purty as ever, an' gentle, an' loving, an* 

brave. 
If you'll only just wait an* have dinner, we'll visit my 

partner's grave. 



A LETTER OF DEA TH. 27 



A LETTER OF DEATH. 




^ON'T push me about, man, don't you see 
that the mail 
Is not yet distributed? Wait for your 
G?. turn. 

Why, confound you, you're breaking my ribs 
on this rail, 
Stand back, or I'll give you the thrashing you earn. 
If ye plase, sur, I heard from a friend in the mine. 

That a letter was here for one Dennis McFay, 
And I'd like for to get it, if it's only a line. 

If it comes from the wife, for she's so far away. 
I'd like for to know, for it's long since I had 

A scratch of a pen, an' I'm out of my head. 
Devil a word for a year have I heard, good or bad. 

So how can I tell if she's livin' or dead. 
I'm anxious to get it, for it's late in the day. 
And the mine where I work is from here good three 
mile; 
If I'm not there at one, why they'll send me away, 
Ah, you don't have to work, sur, an' that's why ye 
smile. 



28 A LETTER OF DEATH. 



Well, well, my good man, since that is the case, 

I'll ask for your letter; let's see, what's the name? 
Dennis McFay, sur, an' I came from a place 

Called " Larrah," and the letter must be from the 
same. 
A letter for Dennis McFay, if you please. 

Much obliged; the postmark says "Larrah," twentieth 
of May; 
And now, friend, I hope that your mind is at ease — 

Here's the letter you looked for, I bid you good 
day. 
If ye plase, sur, don't lave me awhile, for indeed 

My mind's not at ease, 'till the letter is read. 
I'm not much of a scholar, devil a word can I read, 

So how can I tell if she's livin' or dead } 
What! you can't read your letter, well that is too bad. 

Why, how does that come, were you never at school.? 
Ah, yis, sur, it's many's the good chance I had. 

But I threw them away like an innocent fool. 
Well, give ine the letter, and let us away. 

For here, 'mongst these men, I can't read it aloud. 
Don't you see they would hear ever}^ word that I say; 

Come, let us move farther away from the crowd. 
Ah! under this tree is a beautiful shade, 

Where the sun will not shine in my face, 
While I read you your letter; O, don't be afraid, 

I'll see that you won't lose your place. 



A LETTER OF DEA TH. 29 

"Dear Dennis, I take up the pen in my hand, 

I hope that yer well, as this letter laves me." 
'Tis from " Mike," he's the dacentest boy in the land, 

A relation of mine, sur, called Michael Magee. 
"I hope that yer prosperous, Dennis Avic, 

In the home that yev made in the wilds of the 
West; 
With us, all's gone wrong since poor Norah took sick. 

Ah, it's badly we've fared, Dennis dear, at the best. 
The crop is a failure, the rent in arrears, 

And it's sorry I am, but the worst must be told; 
While I write, sure the paper is stained with my tears. 

An' my fingers, while houldin' the pen's growin' 
cold. 
O, Dennis, don't blame me for what I must tell. 
But stand up like a man, be courageous an' brave. 
The darlin' who loved you, so pure and so well. 

Is lyin' at rest in the cold, silent grave." 
Arrah! what are ye readin', sure it's only a joke,. 

You know I can't spell, an' yer havin' yer fun; 
Are ye spakin' the truth ? tell me quick, or I'll choke ; 

Oh, God! for this punishment, what have I done.^ 
Just tell me again if it's true what I've heard ; 

Do you know who yer readin' about — it's my wife; 
If ye plase, spell it right, an' I'll not say a word, 

O say it's not so, an' I'll give ye my life. 



so 



A LETTER OF DEA TH. 



I wish that I could, but all that I've read 

Is the truth — do you believe what I say? 
I do, but it tells me my darlin' is dead. 

While I'm from my home, so far, far away. 
Good day, sur; God bless you, for being so kind 

To a stranger, an' while I have breath 
I'll pray to the Lord that you never may find 

*Mong your letters a letter of death. 




/ PRA V FOR THEE AND THINE. 3 1 




I PRAY FOR THEE AND THINE. 



THINK of thee at morning. 

When the dewdrops sparkle bright. 
When the East, the sun adorning, 

Turns darkness into light. 
Oft at that hour, sweet memories 

Around my heart entwine, 
Then, with uplifted hands I pray, 

I pray for thee and thine. 



I think of thee at noontide, 

And the happy long ago, 
When you told me that you loved me, 

In accents soft and low; 
But now another claims your heart. 

The heart you said was mine; 
Though false, I never can forget, 

I pray for thee and thine. 



32 / PRA Y FOR THEE AND THINE. 

I think of thee at evening, 

And the old house on the hill, 
The valley and the village church, 

The brook beside the mill; 
My only joy, though years have passed, 

And here alone I pine. 
Is morning, noon, and eventide, 

To pray for thee and thine. 




A BROKEN HEART. 33 



A BROKEN HEART. 




OU ask me the cause of my sunken eyes. 
And the silver threads in my hair, 
And why from the world I live apart, 
With a darkened brow and a saddened heart ? 
Listen and you shall hear. 



I 



will tell you, friend, of my boyhood days. 
For you've been a friend to me ; 
I will tell you how, in an evil day, 
My life was wrecked, I cast away, 
Like an open boat on the sea. 



'Tis scarce three years since you told me, friend. 

That you from your home must flee. 
As you loved without hope a maiden fair. 
You remember Maud, with the raven hair, 
She was my destiny. 



34 A BROKEN HEART. 



I loved her then, God knows how well, 

Far better, Ned, than you; 
Yours was the love of a foolish boy, 
The love of a child for a pretty toy, 

To be spurned for one that's new ; 



While mine was the love of a riper age. 

Not a love poured out in sighs, 
But the love that poets speak of in song. 
Pure and holy, tender and strong, 
A love that never dies. 



I told her oft of this love of mine. 

And how in the future years 
I would guard her life with a jealous care, 
As a miser guards his treasure rare, 

'Till she smiled amidst her tears. 



You remember the ivy-covered church 
That stands in the village street, 

'Twas there, at the altar's foot, she swore 

To love me only evermore; 
Ah ! then, Ned, life was sweet. 



A BROKEN HEART. 35 



Yes, life was sweet, while she kept the vows 

She made at that holy shrine; 
A smile from her, a look, a kiss. 
And my life was a perfect dream of bliss. 

For then she was only mine. 



But the dream was o'er in three short months 

From the day she became a bride. 
She left me, Ned, to live with one. 
Whom she had known in days agone. 
Ah! then that she had died. 



*Tis the old, old story; I was poor. 
While on him fortune smiled; 

Mine was a home but passing fair. 

His a castle in the air. 
Thus was Maud beguiled. 



I saw her often afterwards. 

As she passed me by without shame ; 
Her castle fell within a year. 
He left her, Ned, so young and fair, 

A thing without a name. 



36 A BROKEN HEART, 



You'd scarcely know her now, my friend. 

So changed since you saw her last: 
But think of her leading that fearful life. 
When she might have been a happy wife; 
Too late — that dream is passed. 



But, look! do you see that faded form, 

With head bent down so low? 
That is she, who in days gone by. 
Played on the green with you and I, 
Our Maud of long ago. 



You ask me the cause of my sunken eyes. 

And the silver threads in my hair, 
And why from the world I live apart. 
With a darkened brow and a broken heart? 
I answer you, look there! 



»>» jOC ^ Wv 



A CHILD'S REQUEST. 37 



A CHILD'S REQUEST. 




AN'T you tell me, ere I die, if there's 

peace above, and whY 
Only troubles here I saw? Come and 

tell me, dearest mA, 
Nearer still — does any man, when he 

crosses o'er the spaN, 
Meet a friendly, generous gawk, be he black or 

white as chalK. 
Ugly as a limb of law, or pretty as a dude? Ta, tA. 
Really I should be glad to meet him, were he sane or maD, 
Peer or peasant, or Bashaw, or a bummer, just like pA ; 
Humbly, then, I'd cross the dam, to mingle with 

"legit" or haM, 
You bet that we'd have many a glass, for ther6 

the option law won't pasS. 



n^=^^=:r^ 



38 



A THOUGHT. 



THOUGHT. 

AN ACROSTIC. 



/^^ji^ANCY often paints a face 

Radiant as the mid-day sun; 
'\^]% A face no artist's brush can trace, 
"^ Nor e'er complete, what thought begun. 

Kneel beside great "Raphael's" tomb. 
Look on the works of his brilliant mind. 
E'en though you couch in Nature's womb. 
What is the use, you'll never find 
In all this world, with genius fraught. 
Some wondrous man to paint a thought. 



GOOD NIGHT, GOD BLESS YOU. 39 



GOOD NIGHT, GOD BLESS YOU. 




OW beautiful the home must be, 
Where gentle words we hear. 
Where peace and joy, without alloy, 
Are ever present there ; 
How sweet to hear a mother's voice. 
With words of love address you, 
In heartfelt prayer, and then to hear 
Her sweet "Good night, God bless you;" 
Good night, good night, 
God bless you. 

How oft we treasure, through this life. 

From those we love, a token; 

But, ah! more dear, than jewels rare. 

Are words when kindly spoken. -^ 

How beautiful the home must be 

Where loving ones caress you. 

And after prayer, you always hear. 

The sweet "Good night, God bless you;" 

Good night, good night, 

God bless you. 



40 KA THLEEN. 



KATHLEEN 




RRAH ! do not believe them, dear Kathleen, 
When they say that I'll love you no more, 
Or ne'er will return to that ever green isle, 

Where so often we've wandered of yore. 
Believe, dearest one, though 'mid strangers 
I roam, 
I'll love thee and old Erin yet; 
And though it be years ere I see thee again, 
Dear Kathleen, I cannot forget. 



Though seas roll between us, dear Kathleen, 

And fair ones are here to be seen, 
Yet I'll always remember the rosy cheek 'd lass. 

Who lives in the shady Borheen. 
Yes, dearest one, still I love you the same 

As I loved you the day we first met. 
And though it be years ere I see thee again, 

Dear Kathleen, I cannot forget. 



ONLY A BEGGAR. 



41 



ONLY A BEGGAR. 




IGED and feeble, heart broken and sad, 
Friendless and eager to die; 
No home but the haunts of the vicious 
and bad, 
No roof for his head but the sky. 
Daily his gray hairs are seen on the street, 
Or asking for alms at a door; 
Avoided by all whom he happens to meet, 
He's only a beggar! no more. 



Look at him now, he's coming this way. 

His white head bent low on his breast. 
He's ascending the steps of yon house, let us pray 

He may find there a haven of rest. 
But, no; the great door is slammed in his face. 

Lest his bare feet should tread on the floor. 
Drive him hence, he's no business in such a 
place. 

He's only a beggar! no more. 



grand 



42 ONLY A BEGGAR. 



Now down the dark alley, now up the broad street, 

All places to him are the same : 
And his cry, " Will you please give me something to eat. 

For I'm weary and foot sore and lame." 
See, he stops, undecided where next he shall go. 

With a prayer on his lips, often uttered before, 
" Take me to you, oh, God ! I'm no use here below, 

I'm only a beggar! no more." 

Nightly he prays to that throne in the sky, 

Where the fall of a sparrow is known : 
"Oh, Father! look down with your ail-seeing eye, 
- And pity the friendless and lone. 
Oh, King of all kings ! how long will it be 

Ere I tread on that heavenly shore? 
Or have you no room for a poor waif like me, 

I'm only a beggar! no more." 

Day succeeds day, but no longer is seen 

The old man's grey hairs on the street; 
No longer the voice of the weary, I ween, 

Will the ears of the passers-by greet. 
No longer will he hear the cruel, heartless jest. 

As he meekly asked alms at a door; 
He has gone to that bourne where the weary find rest, 

Up there he's a beggar no more. 



BE A UTIFUL ALICE ADAIR. 43 



BEAUTIFUL ALICE ADAIR. 




OW well I remember the old - fashion'd cot. 
And the vine -covered porch by the door, 
The nook where I play'd, and the houses I 
made 
With the sand on the sea -beaten shore. 
And ofttimes I think of my once happy home. 

And its angel with bright golden hair. 
Who long since has fled to the home of the dead. 
Beautiful Alice Adair ! 



And well I remember the spot where she sleeps, 

A moss-grown mound by the sea. 
And above it the cot, with its flower- covered lot, 

Where in childhood we sported so free. 
And oh ! how I long just to see once again 

The home of my boyhood so dear. 
The blue rolling wave, and the moss - cover'd grave, 

Of beautiful Alice Adair! 



44 



WHEN STARS ARE SHINING, ELLA DEAR. 



WHEN STARS ARE SHINING, ELLA DEAR. 




^ HEN stars are shining, Ella dear, 

And the moon is beaming bright; 
When the odor of the violets 
Perfumes the air of night; 
Then, darling, will you meet me 
At the ivy -covered well? 
You know the spot where first we met, 
That evening in the dell. 



When stars are shining, Ella dear 

How sweet it is to woo. 
What better time for tender words 

From lovers fond and true? 
Oh! say, then, will you meet me. 

For I've something I must tell. 
You know the spot where last we met — 

The ivy -covered well. 



BV AND BY. 



45 



BY AND BY. 




H! tell me why you hide your face, 
And from me turn away, 
And why you tremble like a bird. 

When I a word would say? 
You say, you do not love me; 
But saying this you sigh, 
Which tells me plainly, persevere! 
I'll love you by and by. 



Oh! tell me, why at close of day 

You stand beside the door. 
And when I come you always say 

" I wish you'd come no more ; " 
And why, whene'er I leave you, 

The tear drops fill your eye, 
They tell me plainly, come again ! 

I'll love you by and by. 



46 BV AND BY. 



'Tis scarce a year since last you said 

"I wish you'd stay away;" 
But now, instead of saying "go," 

You always bid me stay; 
You whisper to me softly 

"Beloved, for you I'd die!" 
I knew, thou idol of my heart. 

You'd love me by and by. 




BRIGHT DA YS OF HAPPINESS. 47 



BRIGHT DAYS OF HAPPINESS. 




OME again, bright days of happiness, 

And cheer my lonely heart, 
For I have been as one that's lost. 

Since you and I did part. 
The summer moon shines just as bright. 

And the birds sing as of yore. 
But the heart within is very sad. 

Since we parted at the door; 
But the heart within is very sad. 

Since we parted at the door. 

Come again, bright days of happiness. 

And let me once more see 
The happy home I call'd my own, 

Those friends so dear to me. 
O ! then again will life be bright. 

As when, in boundless joy, 
I used to climb my native hills, 

A happy, wayward boy ; 
I used to climb my native hills, 

A happy, wayward boy. 



48 COLLEEN KA TE. 



COLLEEN KATE. 




TOLD her, darling, of my love 

For a Colleen, young and fair, 
Whose brilliant eyes, the stars above 

For beauty can't compare ; 
Whose hair would make the raven blush, 
And whose cheek would shame the rose ; 
Whose voice so sweet, that like the thrush, 

'Tis song where'er it goes. 
I told her that I loved as true 

As the ring dove loves his mate; 
I told her, with a kiss for you. 
My own sweet Colleen Kate. 



I told her every coming year 
Would make you dearer far. 

With not a cloud of doubt or fear 
Our happiness to mar; 



COLLEEN KA TE. 49 



I told her that while life would last, 

And after, on that shore, 
I'd love you then, as in the past — . 

1 told her this and more. 
I told her that I loved as true 

As the ring dove loves his mate ; 
I told her, with a kiss for you, 

My own sweet Colleen Kate. 




so 



TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES BACKUS. 



TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES BACKUS, 

THE LATE MINSTREL. 




AKE him for all in all, we shall not look 
Upon his like again. There's nothing left 

to do 
But place his name on memory's sacred 

book, 

His honored form beneath the sod and dew. 
Of infinite jest, of story rare, and song, 
A very prince of anecdote and mirth. 
We'll look in vain, 'midst all the busy throng. 
To find his equal here on this cold earth. 



His faults — we all have faults — we're often told ' 

By tliose who loved him, but they also said 
His virtues did outweigh his faults a thousand fold, 

So may we all be spoken of when dead. 
Friend, husband, father, may you be at peace 

In that bright sphere, where friends have gone before ; 
Your wife and orphans' prayer will never cease 

To give you conduct safe through Heaven's door. 



TO THE MEMORY OF BILLY GRA Y. $1 



TO THE MEMORY OF BROTHER BILLY GRAY. 




OOD bye! He doeth all things well! 
Your home is from thence on that far off 
land. 
Who'll be the next ? Ah ! who can tell, 

Of that merry, joyous, happy band. 
Who but a little while ago 
Laughed at your jokes. 'Tis sad to see 
Your grave dug deep, ere the winter's snow 

Or the autumn leaves fall from the tree. 
Are we so soon forgotten? No! 

Some memories with us ever dwell; 
To those we've loved in this v/orld of woe. 
We say good bye, but not farewell. 




52 TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES A. LORD. 



TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES A. LORD. 




UST and true to his fellow-man, 

A friend in the hour of need; 

Modest, withal, but in life's span 

Eager to take the lead. 

Sought for by those who knew him best. 

And the warm heart in his honest breast. 
Loving and loved, in this world must part, 
Only to rise again from clay. 
Remember He said, " Weep not, oh ! heart ; 
Do not rebel; there's a Judgment Day." 



4>^ ^Sf- 13^ 



DRIFTING APART. 



53 



DRIFTING APART. 




WO good ships sailed from port one day. 
At their mastheads both had colors gay; 
Bounding along with white sails set. 
They'd scarce begun their journey yet; 
But as they left behind the shore 
The wind wailed mournfully, "Nevermore 

Shall they sail together, as they sailed to-day, 

Down to the ocean, out of the bay. 

For the self -same port, with the self -same chart; 

Ere night comes on, they'll be drifting apart, drifting apart." 



Two maidens sat at a trysting place. 

With arms entwined, in fond embrace ; 

And they talked of the lovers they had found, ^ 

And laughed, till the dell gave back the sound. 

But a raven o'er their heads did soar. 

And sang his song of "Nevermore 

Shall they sit together, as they sat to-day. 

Out in the sunshine, merry and gay; 

One weds for gold; the other, heart. 

And so they re lives are drifting apart, drifting apart.' 



54 DRIFTING APART. 



Two lovers stood at the holy shrine 
With love's sweet words, "forever thine;" 
And the good priest, as in days agone, 
Pronounced the twain forever one. 
Ah ! perjured soul, but so 't will be 
'Till time fades to eternity. 
Ah ! could she hear, e'en while he swore, 
The angels whispered, " Nevermore 
Shall peace reign in your broken heart ; 
From thence, you're ever drifting apart, drifting 
apart." 



Two churchmen knelt at the hour of prayer. 
With downcast looks, and modest air; 
The one communed with God aloud, 
The other cared but for the crowd. 
The one was there his soul to save. 
The other, to show the alms he gave, 
As if in prayer his head bent lower; 
The Demon whispered, "Nevermore 
Shall you enter here, for mine thou art ; 
Too long have we been drifting apart, drifting 
apart." 



DRIFTING APART. 55 



Of the two ships, one did safely ride; 
Of the maidens, one 's a happy bride ; 
Of the lovers, one's beneath the sod; 
Of the churchmen, one still worships God. 
But so it is, and will be still. 
As long as man lacks strength of will 
Shall he hear forever at his door 
The Demon crying, " Nevermore, 
Till you drive me forth from your sinning soul 
Shall you be at peace, or reach that goal 
Where 'Evermore' the weary heart 
Finds rest, for there's no drifting apart, drifting 
apart.'* 




$6 THE LAND WHERE THE SHAMROCK GROWS. 



THE LAND WHERE THE SHAMROCK GROWS. 




'HERE'S a beautiful land that is dear to my 
heart. 
An emerald set in the sea— 
And, oh ! with my last drop of blood would 
I part. 

To see that green island set free. 
'Tis the spot that dame Nature is pleased to adorn, 

And where water like bright crystal flows, 
'Tis the land where O'Connell and Emmet were born — 
The land where the shamrock grows. 



How long will it be, dear land of my birth, 

Ere the chains of the tyrant shall fall. 
And peace, like the sunlight that shines on your earth, 

Bring joy and contentment to all? 
How long will your flag, with its harp and its green. 

Hang low 'neath the thistle and rose ; 
How long till oppression no longer is seen 

In the land where the shamrock grows? 



THE LAND WHERE THE SHAMROCK GROWS. 57 

Oh ! Erin, acushla, crushed as thou art, 

By the heel of a despot in power, 
Fear not, there are thousands of brave, willing hearts 

Who await but the time and the hour 
To strike in defense of their dear native land. 

And drive from the green fields the foes 
Who dared for centuries past to command 

In the land where the shamrock grows. 




58 THE GIRLS SA V I'M FULL OF THE BLARNEY. 



THE GIRLS SAY I'M FULL OF THE BLARNEY. 




r^ 'M a tight Irish boy from the town of Fermoy, 
The most beautiful place ever seen, 
There the colleens are coy, and the men full 
of joy, 
And the fields are so lovely and green. 
Of course you'll ask why I left that fine place, 
But first let me say I'm call'd Barney; 
I left bekase there I could never get pace, 
For the girls say I'm full of the blarney. 



It's there ye'll find maids of all classes and grades, 

Some lean, and some short, and some tall. 
Some stout and some thin, and some ugly as sin, 

But I promis'd to marry them all. 
There's Bridget McGee, and Judy McKee, 

Fat Nance, and a widow called Kearney ; 
And little Nell Fay used to smile when she'd say, 

"Ye blackgard, you're full of the blarney." 



THE GIRLS SAY I'M FULL OF THE BLARNEY. 59 

So after a spell, when they found out the sell, 

They all came to know who I'd marry; 
'Twas more fun than a fair, an' such pulling of hair. 

So I thought it was no place to tarry. 
Fat Nance, full of spite, said for me she would fight, 

An' she blackened the eye of Miss Kearney ; 
An' little Nell sighed, an' poor Judy she cried. 

An' they all said, ' Bad luck to his blarney." 




6o THE LITTLE WANDERER. 



THE LITTLE WANDERER. 




OW cold the wind blows, and how fearful 
it snows," 
Said a poor little wanderer out in the 
street ; 
As closer her shawl, round her figure so 
small. 
She drew, while she begged of each stranger she'd meet ; 
But all passed her by, what to them was her cry 

Of "Charity, mister," so plaintive and low — 
Their hearts were not bare, then why should they care 
For a poor little wanderer, out in the snow. 



Still colder it grows, and fiercer it blows, 

Yet she wanders with no place to pillow her head; 
No friend to caress her, no mother to bless her, 

She's naught but the pitiless €now for her bed. 
"Oh! God, let me die!" was the weary child's cry, 

" I've no one to love me, I've nowhere to go, — 
Or have you decreed, that no one shall heed 

A poor little wanderer, out in the snow.^" 



THE LITTLE WANDERER. 



6i 



The long night has passed, the dawn's come at last, 

But the poor little wanderer heeds not the tread 
Of the proud passers-by, who so oft heard her cry, 

" Please, mister, I'm starving, pray give me some bread." 
For alone in the night, her spirit took flight. 

To that bourne where no sorrow or hunger she'll know ; 
Our Father above sent an angel of love, 

To take the poor wanderer out of the snow. 




62 



THE IVY LEAF. 



THE IVY LEAF. 




EAUTIFUL, shining leaf of green, 

Why were you plucked from the parent vine ? 
Only for sorrow and care, I ween. 

Only lo break her heart and mine. 
Soft as the plume of a cooing dove, 
Innocent cause of all her grief. 
Why were you sent as a pledge of love. 
Beautiful, beautiful ivy leaf? 



Beautiful leaf, if you only knew 

How light her heart was before you came. 
You'd hide away from the morning dew, 

And in the sunlight blush with shame. 
Ah, little she thought in her perfect bliss. 

That her dream of love would be so brief. 
As she welcomed you with a holy kiss. 

Beautiful, beautiful ivy leaf. 

—In the drama of the " Ivy Leaf' by Con T. Murphy. 



UNKNOWN. 63 



"UNKNOWN." 




HE wind wails mournfully through the 
trees, 
Singing its sad song, soft and low, 
And the rank grass waves, stirred by the 
- breeze. 
On a grave forgotten long ago. 
The vines creep over a tablet old. 

And 'neath them, on the musty stone, 
Almost covered with moss and mold. 
Is the single word, " Unknown." 



A shaft of polished marble stands 

Where our only brother sleeps, 
And flowers are strewn, with lavish hands, 

While a sister o'er him weeps. 
Who knows but he was loved as well, 

On whose mound no flower is thrown. 
Who fought, and for his country fell, 

And whose grave is marked, " Unknown." 



64 DA VY'S PROMISE. 



DAVY'S PROMISE. 




RUDGING along at early dawn 
Of a bleak December morn, 
'Twas that on which the old year dies, 

And before the new is born, 
Came a puny lad, with hair of gold, 
And shivering frame, from the bitter cold ; 
With shoeless feet, and box on back, 

The switchman heard him say: 
"I won't give up, for there's the track, 
And I said I'd come on New Year's Day." 



All aboard ! the train moves off, 

With its load of human freight, 
A moment more and the little lad 

With his box would be too late. 
But on the platform, with firm hold. 
Stands the shivering frame, with the hair of gold ; 



DAVY'S PROMISE. 65 



"Come, come, my lad, I want your fare," 

" I've no money, sir, to pay ; 
I can walk no more, and I 7nust be there, 

For I said I'd come on New Year's Bay." 

" You must be there, what's that to me, 

I've heard those tales before, 
I want my fare, it's very cold. 

Come in and shut the door. 
Where do you wish to go, my lad? 
You've got no money, well, that's too bad." 
*' I want to go to Dover Creek, 

And that's so far away; 
Why, I couldn't walk it in a week. 

And I must be there on New Year's Day." 

"Sit down, my boy, come closer still, 

I'm sure you must be cold. 
Blacking boots, is that your trade.? ^ 

Why you can't be ten years old. 
Your name, m}'- lad, what might it be, 
To Dover whom go you to see.?" 
'• The bootblacks call me little Dave, 

I'll be twelve years old in May; 
I go to see my mother's grave. 

And I must be there on New Year's Day." 



66 DAVY'S PROMISE. 



"Your mother dead, are you alone — 

Your father, Davy, where is he?" 
"Don't ask me, please, sir; father's dead. 

Not like mother, but dead to me. 
Some years ago, so mother said, 
He did some deed for which he fled ; 
And now, sir, mother's laid beside 

The old stone church, where I used to play. 
And I promised her, before she died, 

I'd always come on New Year's Day." 

" Brave little lad ! you shall not break 

Your promise to the dead ; 
Go visit her, and may God pour 

Choice blessino^s on your head. 
And always hold her memory dear. 
For though afar, she's ever near; 
Her spirit watches from above, 

To guide you on your way ; 
Remember her with holy love. 

And keep your promise New Year's Day." 

"Dover Creek," the brakeman shouts. 
With voice both loud and clear; 

Box on back, off on the snow 
Jumps the boy with the golden hair. 



DA yV'S PROMISE. 67 



And there he stands, with the bitter past, 
Just as the old year breathes its last; 
A little while and he's at the gate 

Of the churchyard old and gray; 
*' Oh ! mother, dear, I'm not too late, 

I said I'd come on New Year's Day." 

Long years have passed since that bleak morn. 

When the boy, with hair of gold. 
Came plodding along with box on back. 

And shivering from the cold. 
And many another grave's been made. 
In the churchyard where his mother's laid. 
Old age has bent his form low. 

He'll be eighty-five in May; 
At his mother's grave, in rain or snow, 

He asks her blessing New Year's Day. 



68 



JOHNSTOWN. 



JOHNSTOWN. 




n UST as was shining the last bright ray 
Of the golden sun on the Rocky 's peaks, 
Husband and wife watched their children play 
Near them, while bright on their ruddy cheeks 
Shone a hue that would shame the rose of May. 
'Twas the last bright hue; ere the sun had set. 
Over their homesteads the waters came, 
With a rush that the living will ne'er forget, 
Nor the dead remember— that flood and flame. 





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